Battle Royale: The Sin Series
by Ryumaru Mori
Summary: Battle Royale fanfiction, using Frank Miller's style of narration. Another new Program. Another set of rules. Let the games begin.


Battle Royale: The Sin Series

Authors Note: Just a quick note, before I begin. I attempted this project, due to my new found love of the Sin City narration style. I drew my inspiration mostly from it and various films such as Saw and Severance. This is my first time trying to write in first-person, so I apologize if anything sounds off. This is currently a test, but if I receive enough reviews to showing interest in the project, then I'll work on continuing the series.

Chapter One: Sins of the Child

Nansei Islands, September 16th, 2004.

It's all I can think about. That one primal urge, chewing at the back of my mind like the feral dog it'd become. Survival.

I'm staring down that barrel. It's pointed right at me. Sadly, the main thing which strikes me is the hardware itself. Murai, .50 calibre. Integrated laser sight and if my guess is right, hollow-point ammunition. Seems about the kind of thing those sick bastards would outfit us with. Either way, my sudden appreciation for firearms is pretty sickening… pity I couldn't care anymore.

His name's Sumiyoshi. Not a name I'll forget anytime soon. He's the reason for that burning hole in my leg, taunting my nerves with the deceptively tiny aesthetics of the wound. I can taste blood. Sweet, metallic blood. Once again, I care? I've been cut up; shot up so much that another bit of open skin couldn't do much more harm. Only thing which does provoke any kind of thoughts of care is the shaking. My own barrel, significantly shorter, aimed in the slightly overweight student's direction is shaking. I'd stopped counting how many rounds were left in the clip a good few months ago, but somehow I knew there was enough there to end it. Enough to end the hostilities.

"You should have stayed down, faggot. I gave you a chance. You could of made it easier on yourself," He says in that droll little voice of his. Large boy, trying to act like the big man. Got himself a gun. Thinks he's God. I'll show him God, soon enough.

But once again, my thoughts are changing… Not a strange thing, with the maelstrom of carnage that was currently occupying my head. Kasumi-chan. Why am I thinking of her, now? I know exactly where she is. Right behind me. Curled up behind that tree, like some sort of beaten down dog.

Yet, even in these circumstances, all I can think about is… breasts? Somehow, just that simple piece of anatomy had helped me keep my sanity throughout all these months. Perfect, rounded, pressed together in that tight, sweating cleavage which her torn and shredded school-top now displayed… Closest to Heaven I've been in a long time. It's only fitting for the birthday boy. Seventeen today. What a way to celebrate.

I finally bring myself back to what's important, however. As much as I want to think about them, female anatomy isn't the subject of the game.

"This time, you're going to suffer… You and your little whore. I'm going to make sure I riddle you so full of holes. Then, I'm going to take that little fuck-toy of yours, an'-" Once again, the little man was working up his own gospel of sick thoughts. Just then, a sound – one large bang and suddenly, little man Sumiyoshi becomes a rag doll. His arm flails back, letting out a high-pitched yell. He couldn't have emasculated himself further if he tried. Can't help but feel sorry for the poor bastard at that moment.

That moment passes.

A baby mule starts kicking in my hands and I can barely control him, three sick splats follow as the scream is silenced. Should I feel wrong? Enjoying such a lack of sound? Such a lack of sound that _I_ created?

Because if I wasn't, then someone better tell me. It was feeling pretty damn good, I can tell you. Then reality hits. I shot three times. There were four. Else I wouldn't have had such an opening to fire. Where did that…?

There's another echoing shot throughout the forests, scattering the leaves about my feet. I'd seen enough shots to know that wasn't intended for me.

"Ryumaru," A voice calls from my left, and I'm forced to look. "I'm proud of you. You're quite the little murderer."

No… It can't be.

"Shinji…?" My throat tightens. My muscles go limp and for the first time in months, it's not from lack of blood. My hand refuses to listen to the aforementioned maelstrom, keeping it's grip heavy on the bumped grip of my Sig Sauer. Shinji was playing the game? It wasn't possible… He wouldn't do something like this. He didn't have it in him.

He says something, but my mind refuses to process it. Denial kicks in, and I suddenly seem to forget seventeen years worth of Japanese as if it was nothing. His lips keep moving, but I don't hear a damn thing.

The feeling is still there though. That's when I feel it. My chest feels drafty. An unintelligible scream from behind me and I know it's Kasumi. Something tells me I didn't want to hear what Shinji was saying.

Ignorance is bliss.

It's only when I feel fingers that I have a clue what's going on. Her fingers. Thin, perfectly manicured even in this Hell, and wrapped about my chest. I look down, and I finally understand what's going on. There's a hole in my already battered Kevlar, but it'd failed it's job this time. There's blood and it has to be said… drafts sure do feel strange when they're coming from inside your chest.

… Hell of a way to end a friendship…

Kyoto, Hawasashi Community College, September 16th, 2003.

"Aiiiiii, Ryu-chaaaan!" It was the war cry of the mighty hugger, followed by a half-strangle, half-affectionate cuddle as the seemingly crazy female latches onto me. It was Himiko.

Everyone knew Himiko. She was a nice girl, in more ways than one. I like to think of myself as a nice guy, but it was hard to not notice how 'developed' she was in certain areas of her anatomy. Combine that with a nice dose of naiveté and a love for alcohol. There you had a girl who failed to grasp the very reasons why she was so popular.

"Yes, I know…" An overly female chuckle comes from my mouth and I'm not afraid to let it flow. I already know what most of the guy's think of me but we all know that's not true.

"Know? Know what?" She looked at me with those large, greeny-brown eyes… and quite sadly, I could tell she didn't have a clue what I was on about. Poor, poor Himiko-chan. "I was just going to say, we need to take the birthday boy out for a drink tonight! Sweet sixteen!"

She was giggling in unison with the rest of the girls about her but I paid little attention to them. Most of them I didn't know but the odd few amongst them rung a few bells. Megumi for one. She was a pretty girl… Well, pretty in that geeky kind of a way. Little too thin for her own good, pale skin. With hair as black as hers, it was a rather stark contrast.

Then there was Suki. Now, I tend not to like saying things like this but she was a little… open, when it came to who got her love and when it came to the amount of guys who spoke about getting to try some of her 'love'… It wasn't a small number, either.

"You know, you really don't need to go through all that tro-" I'm stopped cold by a firm slap on the shoulder from the precious girl, glancing back just enough to catch a glimpse of the rather pretty face of Suki.

"C'mon, Maru-chan," She muttered that Buddha-be-damned nickname and I can feel my tolerance slip just another level lower. It was a bad enough to have it in my name but to be simply known as 'child' was hardly a nod to a good thing. "We'll rustle up a couple of people, we'll make a night of it!" She says it with such fervor, yet I know what she means by 'a night of it'. She was in the mood for a search. Maybe she's already gotten bored of the boys at school?

Finally I feel that last barrier of resistance melt away and suddenly, fighting the current just doesn't seem like a viable option any longer. Reluctantly, my head tugs itself upward then downward, with the odd addition of a shrug. "Alright, alright…" Submission felt so good after the pestering, before another small round of giggles and the occasional clap eminated about my person.

"Alright! Yay!" Himiko finally bursted out in happiness, giving me more than content look, grasping my hands in hers. They come so close to that divine chest as she clasped me to her. God, I hate being male.

"You're going to have so much fun! I promise!" She tells me, thinking that repeated, almost spastic nodding was helping me get excited by this comment.

Not helping, honey.

At that moment, came the thrice ringing school bell. Himiko had gone off on some random tangent, which I felt no need to pursue listening to. It only took a minute or two of this treatment (which she didn't seem to notice, anyway) before she began to file off with a small crowd, two of the girls giving a wave in unison. It was a blown kiss, in Suki's case. I could feel my cheeks begin to burn at this. Goddammit.

Leaving the classroom we'd been previously in, empty after the Maths class had filed out, it seemed it was time for the next lesson. Japanese Language, another lovely hour and a half of reading and answering questions that nobody cares about. Soon enough though, I find myself there anyway. Strangely enough, the lesson hadn't even started, and at least three of the students were snuggled into their desks, sleeping away their education. Giving it a few seconds of thought, I begin to seat myself and that's when it hits me.

One simple yawn. I hadn't noticed it before but now that my attention wasn't split, I noticed just how tired I was. My muscles were lax, my head felt light. I know my sleep pattern had been slightly off the past week, but this much? I couldn't quite understand it. I'd never fell asleep in class before.

Seemed there was a first time for everything.

I could fell myself waking up. Sunlight pierced through the tiny partings in my lids like one too many tiny daggers, forcing me to wince. I felt sick, my stomach was jumping every few seconds and as my senses returned, I noticed something. It wasn't my stomach jumping. It was me.

I was moving. Not in the good, on your legs variety either. It felt like a bus, hydrolics thumping beneath me as we travelled. There was an alien infront of me. Short-skirt, exposing a pair of rather lovely, shaven legs. It was when I bothered to look her in the eyes which caused a problem.

She looked like a World War II civilian. What looked like an olden style gas-mask rested on her face, obscuring my view.

And she was coming my way.

Her arm raised as she came closer and suddenly, I'm hit by a train. One loud, reverberating 'dong!' from a hollow instrument in her hand and once again I feel myself slump.

What a way to celebrate.


End file.
